Tremble
by Lito-Arumi
Summary: Pre Wolf-Bite. Two people (*cough* Isaac *Cough* Erica) from broken housholds alas, receive the attention they deserve ! Warning: Contains abuse, violence, incestuous themes. Scisaac Sterica


Light filtered through slatted blinds scarring the white floor gold. Isaac, silently gratified for the intrusion, watched a string of dust motes clash and dance in their morning spotlight, drifting lazily downward and disappearing once below his line of vision. He focused on them.

And his breathing.

_'That's it. Softly, now. Even and steady.'_

In his mouth lingered the metallic tang of blood and his father's seed from last night. Gagging, he reminisced. He'd had to swallow it. All of it. Bringing a trembling wrist to his mouth, he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. God, it tastes awful.

_'Breathe, kiddo.'_ A shuddering breath rattled free from his lungs, drawing a soft whimper from his bruised lips, exactly the way he wished it hadn't. It was painful, wavering. 'Your eyes are attuned to the light, now. Nothing else, just breathe.' Luckily for him, though, the exhalation progressed a bit smoother, like a soothing lave to a scrape, without any hitches or upticks, and he felt the faintest of smiles grace his lips. He'd made it another night.

_'Don't be melodramatic.'_ Sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, leaning against the flaking plaster drywall of the bathroom, Isaac was exhausted, dizzy, and in more pain than he'd like to acknowledge. The slightest motion would beckon the prowling nausea in his gut to lurch violently. One small twitch of his skin would drive a rapier-sharp claw of fire down his back.

But that wasn't breaching any realm of normality for him. After all... It was simply another Monday.

_'In, Isaac, that's it. Easy. Now out.'_ Eyes fluttering close, Isaac listened with calm alacrity to Camden's voice. It was a faint whisper on his thoughts, a previous sliver of time. A ghost. He'd conjured his older brother's voice a few months after his death, right around the time when his father began using the nine inch blade to give Isaac his condolences and his affection.

Affection.

You read that right.

Knuckling his chest tenderly to stifle a sardonic laugh that would morbidly morph into a ravenous coughing fit, Isaac's mind tortured him, scrolling through it's mental photo album of the bloody thing. Affection was the knife, and the warmth like love it brought? That was the scalding blood on his skin.

It's gleaming steel would glint tauntingly in the pitch black that would drive him nearly insane as his father- His mind's replication of Cam abruptly derailed that train of thought.

_'No._ _Focus.'_

"Right," Isaac whispered, "Start the day, Isaac. Get up. Just go." After a moment he blinked open his sleep haggard eyes and his lips spasmed up into an ironic smile. Ha. One of those moments when it's much easier said than done. He could try, he could certainly try. Because it hurt. God, did it hurt. While his fellow classmates were in their comfortable beds, commanding battalion's toward their parents to let them stay there, to linger nestled at sleep's bossom, he was huddled in the bathroom, fighting to budge, to turn his body even remotely. To stand on his two feet.

Agony being his constant companion.

Sighing, he attempted to glean the damage done to his heels, gingerly unfurling his legs from being tightly tucked to his chest. In retrospect, he supposed he started sitting this way to cut off circulation in his feet so that they'd fall numb and he wouldn't feel the bruises on every occasion they met the floor.

Then again, numb feet defined slow feet.

His dad despised slow.

Expecting to find a myraid of purple, green, and blue on the tender flesh, he wasn't disappointed. They were nearly black. The soles of his feet were perfect targets of his dad's onslaught. Isaac might be ridden with a limp for awhile, but no one would be bothered to check his feet for signs of abuse. No one.

Villainy and brilliance brought out the worst in his dad.

"Isaac!"

Flinching and causing a plethora of his bruises to sting, Isaac quickly scrambled to his feet. The groan in his mouth was smothered by his hand as his eyes glossened with a sheen of tears. "Oh, god..." Despite the throbbing soreness, he staggard toward the sink, his hands white-knuckling the cool porcelain basin. His heart was beating like a hammer, nearly having the appeal of bursting free of its boney prison. His gut twisted as his throat began to burn with aciduous saliva. Knowing, he absoluetly must look terrible, he glanced upward only to have panic slash at him like a cold steel whip.

"Hurry it up, boy!" "B-Be right there!" Croaked Isaac and in horror, he cleared his raw throat, and tried again. "Coming, dad!" All he could afford to do with the time he had was sloppily imbibe a gulp of listerine and swish it around his mouth, hoping that would rid of the smell and taste clinging to his breath. Hastily, he spit the burning liquid out and made a mad-dash down the hall to his father's room.

How did he run in his sordid condition? Isaac was inclined to think it was motivation behind the fear his father buried into him. It was the only viable explaination.

As he hesitated briefly at his father's threshold, the most random thought pierced his axiety. It's Valentine's Day. If I survive this morning, school's going to be hell.

**xxxxx**

**I know it's rough and terribly short but my inspiration is a bit dead. But I've had this idea for a while. Please help. Review if you like? ^_^**

**Disclaimor: I won nothing, I swear~!**


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